


In All Honesty

by twilightshadow



Series: Writing Prompts and Other Shenanigans [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, For once Enjolras is not oblivious, Gen, This may become a fic by itself, shameless mingling of movie and book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightshadow/pseuds/twilightshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So a lovely anon approached me on tumblr and asked for this (from makinghugospin):</p><p>"Enjolras begins to respect Grantaire more, but can never imagine actually reciprocating his feelings. Grantaire's obsession with him is just too strong, to the point it sometimes makes him uncomfortable (see his cold response to Grantaire offering to black his boots.) Enjolras doesn't want to be in such an unequal relationship."</p><p>This actually got a bit personal cause it's the most perfect reflection of pretty much every romantic encounter I've ever had (filed under More Reasons R is my Spirit Animal). This is pretty much pure angst, so be warned, and enjoy xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All Honesty

The first attack is over. The girl Eponine is dead.

She is laid out in the Musian, alongside Mabeuf, and the spy Javert who is still tied to his post. Combeferre lays her down almost reverently. Courfeyrac stays with Marius. He is not crying, merely staring blankly at the ground, his lap and shirt stained with Eponine’s blood.

The Amis who still live cluster beneath the barricade. They share some bottles of wine. Joly is talking about cats. Enjolras cannot listen to them.

He seeks space in the room at the top of the café, to clear his head of the ring of gunfire, but he knows as soon as he enters that he will find no comfort in the familiar. The familiar has vanished. The furniture has been taken outside though the paving slabs are still piled by the window. A heap of rags lies in the corner.

Wait – not a pile of rags. It breathes. Grantaire, eyes rather bloodshot, looks up at him. He is still clutching his bottle.

 “Ah, _bonsoir_  Enjolras,” he says, voice perfectly steady.

Enjolras is not blind to the light that flickers behind his eyes, never quite dulled even with the amount of absinthe he drinks.

The young man heaves himself upright, and it is then Enjolras realises he is not drunk at all. The absinthe bottle is still more than half full. The red around his eyes has been from crying.

“Grantaire,” he replies.

“It would seem the statue lives on.”

The blonde hesitates a second before crossing the room and sitting beside Grantaire, leaning against the wall. “You seem pleased with this fact.”

“Why would I not be?”

“You don’t believe in our cause.”

“But I believe in you. I would not wish any of you, and you, Enjolras, especially, dead or harmed in any way.”

“I know.”

They both know he is no longer talking about the revolution.

“What are you doing up here, Enjolras? Are you going to take me up on the offer to black your boots?”

Enjolras sighs, and wonders why he didn’t just turn around and leave when Grantaire sat up.  “No, Grantaire. I do not ask that of you, I don’t ask anything of you. Last time I did, I recall, you frittered the time away playing at dominoes.”

“Enjolras – ”

“ _I know_ , R. I know why you’re here.”

Grantaire is silent. He looks as though he has been struck physically.  

“All along?” he finally asks in a small voice.

“All along. You look at me the way Jehan looks at everything. I am a revolutionary, Grantaire, that does not make me blind.” He rests his head back against the wall. He cannot look into Grantaire’s eyes. He cannot see the hurt that is there. There is enough of that at this barricade already. _A place for intoxication, not drunkenness._ Their intoxication has been poisoned.

“You understand, Grantaire, why I cannot reciprocate.”

“Of course I do.” The other man’s voice is low, flat, toneless, a far cry from his usual jovial tenor. “Who would choose me? Nobody, is the answer. I feel honoured you even deign to look at me.”

“You see, Grantaire, this is what I mean!” Some of the fervour has re-entered Enjolras’ voice, and he finally looks around at his companion. “This…obsession, this wilful blindness to everything I have done! I shot a man this afternoon, in cold blood. I will shoot many more before this is over. I treat you with deliberate contempt. Yet you persist in deeming me the most perfect thing alive.”

“Allow me to find some brightness in my godforsaken life, Enjolras. The world is imperfect, let me take my pleasures where I can.” Grantaire’s voice is raw, and honest. “If you wish me to go, I will, but I may as well stay here and die, for either way death reaches out for me.”

Enjolras closes his eyes, inhales. “The thing is, Grantaire, in another life perhaps I would choose you.” The other man almost jumps out of his skin at that. “Oh, yes, I am not completely unfeeling. For all your cynicism, you are intelligent, well read. You love our friends as much as you love that liquid you seem to cleave so desperately to, and you have talents outside of it. But, you and me…” He opens his eyes once again, because he must look at Grantaire for this. “If I were to choose you, you would become nothing except what you are to me. You would cling to me so tightly that you would lose yourself in the process. And I cannot, in good conscience allow that.”

Grantaire still says nothing, just stares towards his shoes. Enjolras hates himself, but at least this way Grantaire has a chance to heal, and to grow.

“You are more than your relationship to me, R. And I want you to remember that, no matter what may happen in the coming days.”

“I am not,” says Grantaire, and it is the first thing Enjolras has ever heard him say quietly. “I am nothing without you.”

Enjolras reaches out a hand, cups the other man’s scruffy cheek and turns his face towards his own.

“You say you believe in me?” he asks softly.

Grantaire only nods.

“Then believe me when I say this: you have never been so utterly wrong. Yes, I despise your drinking. I despise your cynicism and your lack of faith.” Grantaire flinches but Enjolras ploughs on. “But that is not all that you are. Believe this.”

Grantaire smiles sardonically. “As you command, _mon capitain._ ”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, drops his hand and stands. “Be serious, Grantaire. Or sleep off your drink first, I don’t care.”

“I cannot switch my feelings off, Enjolras,” Grantaire snaps, a little more strength entering his voice. “You talk as if they are candle flames to be blown out, but they are stars, which only God can kill. You cannot ask me to stop loving you and expect it to happen instantly.”

“This is not love, Grantaire. This is unhealthy. It will kill you.”

“I can think of no better way to die.”

 Enjolras turns away. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he leaves, he hears Grantaire mutter, “Will you?”

He leaves anyway.

His burden is somewhat lighter as he rejoins the rest of his friends. He smiles at them.

He sees them smile in return and welcome him, he sees them nod fervently at his impromptu pep talk, but he also sees the gaps in their ranks and the marks of battle on their clothing, and…suddenly Grantaire’s words are not so easy to disregard as he would like. 

**Author's Note:**

> This may become a canon-divergence fic by itself at some point in the future, cause I hate leaving them like this, but for now, that's it. 
> 
> As usual, the name's twilightshadow, the game is tumblr (where I am now formally accepting prompts), thanks for reading and see you next time =D


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